


The Curious Case of the Cookie Cut-Outs

by methylviolet10b



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Holidays, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings, could be crack, gingerbread, sortof-kinda-casefic (but not really)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-28
Updated: 2012-11-28
Packaged: 2017-11-19 17:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/576042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/methylviolet10b/pseuds/methylviolet10b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A holiday party at the Yard results in some unusual Christmas cheer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Curious Case of the Cookie Cut-Outs

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a holiday present for sabrinaphynn, who gave me a fantastic and dangerous prompt: **gingerbread**.
> 
> Warnings: Written before Season 2, so could be considered AU; certainly set before TRF. Utterly ridiculous fluff. Dangerous levels of good-will-towards-men. A cranky, determined-to-be-cheerful, and questionably tipsy John. A teenager. A cranky, don't-want-to-be-here Sherlock. _Thoroughly questionable gingerbread._ And Sally, coping with it all.
> 
> Additional Disclaimer: I used a famous real-world murder as the basis of the case under discussion; a virtual gingerbread cookie to anyone who can name it from the details provided.

  
  
   
“You look like you could use this.”  
  
Startled, Sally Donovan looked around to see John Watson holding out a steaming mug filled to the brim with a dark-red, fragrant liquid. “God, yes, thank you.” She took the mug, failing to mention that _she_ was the one who’d brought the warming pot full of mulled wine from which he’d filled the mug. She simply held it up in a brief salute. “I hadn’t expected to see you here,” she said, carefully _not_ looking around the room for his usually-ubiquitous counterpart.  
  
“You mean you’d have bet your next paycheck against my being anywhere near the Yard’s holiday party, given what Sherlock thinks about these things,” John replied with blunt candor. Sally wondered just how much mulled wine John had already had; he wasn’t usually quite that direct, nor were his cheeks normally as flushed as they were now. John grinned at her. “Just Sherlock’s luck that Lestrade received a particularly critical bit of evidence today, one that couldn’t leave the building. And then, of course, once we were here…” John winked.  
  
“Good God.” Sally didn’t bother trying to hide looking around this time. She spotted Lestrade in one corner of the crowded room, exchanging barbed pleasantries with Gregson, but saw no sign of Sherlock. “You don’t mean to say he’s actually _here,_ at the party?”  
  
John’s smile faded slightly, but he nodded. “I told him he could bloody well spare an hour to indulge in a bit of holiday cheer – or at least let me enjoy some.” His jaw set in a way Sally had rarely seen before, but recognized all the same. For some reason, John’s rare stubborn streak was out in force tonight. Over a _party at the Yard_ , of all things, or at least so it seemed on the surface. She wondered what argument/pissing contest/misunderstanding might really be going on between the two friends, but quickly decided that it really wasn’t her business.  
  
Apparently John realized that he might have said a bit too much, because the roses on his cheeks darkened and he hastily changed the subject. “So that’s enough about me. You looked quite worried just now. Is anything the matter?”  
  
Tipsy John might be, but apparently that didn’t stop him from being as observant in his own way as Sherlock. Unlike the other man, however, John’s concern wasn’t feigned. And Sally knew from past experience that he was a good – and discreet – listener.  “Not worried, so much – but maybe a bit frustrated,” she admitted. “And out of my depth.” She looked him over. “I don’t suppose you know much about thirteen-year-old girls?”  
  
John frowned a bit. “Not really. Does _anyone_ really know much about thirteen-year-olds, girls or otherwise?”  
  
Sally chuckled. “Good point, although I think the girls are harder to suss out. I _was_ one once, and I didn’t understand myself then, and it certainly isn’t helping me understand one now.”  
  
“Why is this coming up now?”  
  
A deep sigh worked its way up Sally’s diaphragm before she could stop herself. “My oldest sister’s oldest is staying with me for a few days.” _Quite unexpectedly_ , she could have added, but didn’t. “I haven’t seen Cassie much in the last few years, and I’m at a bit of a loss. I don’t really know what her interests are, or what she might like to do while she’s here.” Given the sullen silences, the awkward, often monosyllabic conversations they’d had over the last twenty-four hours, that was a major understatement.  
  
“That’s tough.” John’s eyes were sympathetic. “Is she here?”  
  
“In the other room – the family-friendly part of the party. We couldn’t very well allow anyone underage in this room with all the alcohol, not without having to issue ourselves a bunch of citations.” It was a lame joke, but it was all she could muster. “I’d have stayed with her, but she didn’t seem to want that, so I came in here for a while to give her some space.” Not to mention all the families with young kids made her ache with conflicting emotions ranging from vague regret to sharp-edged resentment at the way some of the mothers looked down on her.  
  
John nodded. “It’s a nice set-up in there, with the games in one corner, and the gingerbread-decorating table, and plenty of goodies. In fact, that’s where I last saw Sherlock, gobbling down one of the cupcakes brought by that woman from the forensics lab. He was deeply disappointed that they weren’t decorated with frosting brains this time, but that didn’t stop him for making a beeline to them anyway.” He laughed, probably at the memory of those cupcakes, which had been a spectacular hit despite their gruesome appearance. “In fact he likes sweets so much, I wouldn’t be surprised if he went straight from there to the cookie-decorating table. There was enough candy set out there to put the entire city into a diabetic coma. And it’s not like he could get into much trouble with gingerbread, outside of giving himself a belly-ache.”  
  
Sally had to chuckle at that, and she and John shared amused grins – which froze as they both thought about that statement. “Wait a minute – ” she started.  
  
“Oh God,” John said at the same time.  
  
They stared at each other in consternation for a few seconds, thinking about what a bored and annoyed consulting detective might get up to with a table full of gingerbread and sweets.  
  
“Maybe I should go check up on Sherlock,” John muttered.  
  
“There haven’t been any screams or outraged shouts,” Sally pointed out.  
  
“All the more reason to go look _now_ , just in case things are about to get out of hand.” John headed for the other room, and Sally followed right behind him.  
  
The ‘kid-friendly’ room wasn’t nearly as crowded as it had been when Sally had left her niece there. A lot of the parents had already packed up their families and gone home. But there was still a fair crowd, and what they lacked for in number they more than made up in noise. Sally half wanted to cover her ears in self-defense as two little boys raced past her, shrieking at the top of their lungs as they chased each other around the room. Unnoticed in the ongoing chaos, two people sat together at the far end of the gingerbread table, almost huddled together as they worked together over some cookies.  
  
Sally recognized both of them instantly. Sherlock, and right next to him, Cassie, nearly unrecognizable without the sullen expression that had defined her features constantly since her arrival. Her dark eyes sparkled with interest as she jabbed one finger towards one of the cookies.  
  
“But what about him? Couldn’t he have killed her?” The stud in her left nostril quivered as she drew an excited breath. “My Aunt Sally says that when you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. And isn’t it _possible_ that he was able to catch the bus after killing her?”  
  
Sally froze. Her eyes darted around the table next to Sherlock, which sure enough had a gingerbread reconstruction of one of her more recent – and gruesome – crime scenes (one Sherlock hadn’t been asked to, and how the _hell_ had the aggravating freak gotten this information?), complete with a gingerbread corpse, red frosting blood daubed carefully all around the candy-and-cookie representations of furniture, and a raincoat made out of a bit of folded napkin. She made herself look away from all that and at Sherlock, sure he was about to mock her or flay her alive for quoting him.  
  
He did nothing of the sort. Sally wasn’t even sure he knew she and John were there; his attention appeared fixed on Cassie. He even gave her an approximation of an approving smile. “That’s true, and very sensible, but the principle of Occam’s Razor also comes into play. And thanks to your aunt’s excellent notes, we know that _he_ \- ” Sherlock pointed one long finger at the snowman-shaped gingerbread cookie, now decorated to look like the dead woman’s husband – “was significantly overweight _and_ suffering from advanced kidney disease, which makes the likelihood of him being able to accomplish such a feat much more remote. Whereas _he -_ ” Sherlock changed the direction of his finger to indicate a elf-shaped cookie – “suffered no such problems, _and_ his alibi, while equally time-dependent, is much less reliable.”  
  
“Oh, I get it!” Cassie’s face lit up even more. “Because _she -_ ” Cassie pointed at a ballerina cookie, now decorated _oh my god hide it quick before anyone else notices_ in a black piped icing replica of the woman’s stripper outfit, complete with tiny pink sprinkle nipples peeping out of the cut-outs on the bra – “was his girlfriend, and might be lying?”  
  
“Exactly.” Sherlock grinned, and it wasn’t the crazy-with-adrenaline-and-cleverness grin, or the I-know-something-you-don’t smirk, but a friendly open smile like she’d seen him give John (a lot), or Lestrade (occasionally), or sometimes even her (rarely, but it had happened). “And both the glove and the fact that he was the only other person familiar with the household suggest both means and opportunity.”  
  
Sally was going to have to ask him about that, in detail, as soon as she found her voice again. It appeared to have vanished, along with her mind and her ability to move. She still couldn’t stir a step. She was not, in fact, entirely sure she wasn’t dreaming this whole scene.  
  
John wasn’t suffering from any of those problems. “Sherlock,” he sighed, a half-amused, half-exasperated expression turning up the corners of his lips and crinkling the skin around his eyes. “Party, remember?”  
  
“Of course I remember, John. And I’m having an excellent time.”  
  
“Aunt Sally!” Cassie bounced to her feet and bounded over to her, her cornrows flying with her enthusiasm. “You never said your job was so cool!” She gestured at the candy-and-cookie crime scene. “Is this what you do all the time?”  
  
“Not with cookies,” Sally answered faintly.  
  
“Well, duh.” Cassie rolled her eyes. “But you figure this kind of stuff out, investigate it? Not just issue parking tickets or something dull like that?”  
  
“Of course not,” Sherlock answered before Sally could recover from the twin shocks of her niece’s obvious admiration and the idea that her sister had somehow let Cassie think that she, Sally, was some kind of meter maid. “Parking tickets are _dull._ ”  
  
“Wow.”  
  
John looked from Sherlock, to Cassie, to Sally, and his features softened into a genuinely happy smile. “Yes, well.” He cleared his throat. “Speaking of dull, we’d probably best clean up the, um, evidence now. It wouldn’t do to leave this lying about where just anyone can see it, not with an open case.”  
  
“Right you are, John.” Sherlock began sweeping the cookies onto a convenient paper plate. “And then perhaps we should return to the flat. It’s getting late, and we still have some holiday preparations to finish.”  
  
If anything, John’s smile grew wider. Part of Sally’s brain recognized that this was significant, but the rest of her was too busy being stunned to pay it any mind.  
  
“Thanks for showing me, Mr. Holmes,” Cassie said, sounding suddenly very grown up. Her face, however, still glowed with enthusiasm. “I appreciate it.”  
  
“It was my pleasure, Miss Valbrook. You’re very good at asking questions. And if you want more information, you can always ask your aunt, of course.”  
  
Cassie nodded vigorously. “Oh, I will.” The smile she gave Sally was the warmest one she’d seen in years, and the admiration was still there, too.  
  
Sally finally managed to swallow and regain her voice. “Glad you could come to the party,” she said, meaning every word. “It was good to see you. Happy Christmas, Sherlock.”  
  
Sherlock’s pale eyes twinkled mischievously, almost like a Christmas elf’s. “Happy Christmas, Sally.”

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted Dec. 15th, 2011


End file.
